


Distractions

by eirabach



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24947878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/pseuds/eirabach
Summary: Mini baby things written for tumblr prompts, generally written to assist in procrastination
Relationships: Penelope Creighton-Ward/Gordon Tracy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Virgil + John + Star filled night

The caldera that tops Tracy Island isn’t Virgil’s usual hiding spot.

Not that he’s hiding, of course he isn’t, but it’s true that the great arc of the night sky above him is more his brothers’ milieu than his own, the stars their obsession while he’s stuck to more practical considerations. Engineering, mechanics, heavy lifting.

That was the plan. That was his role. And now he finds the little ledge he perches on is just slightly too narrow for his frame, the view of Three’s still-open launch bay too perfectly framed to be meant for his eyes. Artist’s eyes, but there’s no need for an artist’s eyes when the planet crumples and the stars can’t align. No point in fingers that can dance delicate as lace across a canvas but cannot, will not, hold on when they need to. When they  _ have  _ to.

The sky burns with stars, the streak of the Milky Way clear as day, but it’s still too dark for him. Dark as the silent villa far below, empty, but for the ghosts Virgl can’t stand to sleep with tonight. He’d hoped the stars would help, but they’re little more than pinpricks, really. If Alan were here he’d bring the telescope, the crappy, cheap little thing that had once been Scott’s, and press it tight to Virgil’s useless eye as he chattered about the velocity of dust and of death -- and Virgil would have listened and Virgil would have smiled, because that’s what he does, instead of hiding. He lets them hide instead. Let's all those little brothers hide behind his bulk and his strength and --

He doesn’t let go, does he? 

He worries that someday he might.

He turns his face up to the sky, his eyes closed, and imagines he can feel the heat of the strange stars against his cheeks. Imagines asteroids crumbling into nothingness all around him. Imagines Alan, crappy little telescope being passed from damp palm to damp palm. “John?”

John doesn’t answer, not at first, but that’s not unusual. John’s got a reputation worldwide as ‘The Voice that Answers’, but that doesn’t mean every cry in the dark is a priority call. Virgil gets it. It’s ok. 

Alan’s out there, somewhere. Probably ricocheting around a comet or pulling an ollie above an exploding moon or -- John’s busy, that’s all. It’s only --

“John?” A breath, the sort that shakes, rattles like an earthquake and echoes across lightyears. “I could use a little light.”

And above him, far above the cracking Earth, the failing brother, flashes another star. Brighter, bolder, red and gold and green all at once. A beacon.

“Thank you.”

A promise from afar -- but not that far. Not really.

“Any time.”


	2. Gordon + Alan's search history

Alan has long known the warning signs; a grin that’s half leer, dark eyes sparking with glee, the hushed, secretive whisper to a co-conspirator.

That’s usually him, though. He’s usually well aware of whatever nefarious schemes are being cooked up by that evil mind. Which could mean _trouble._

 _Trouble_ sits on Alan's bed, legs crossed in perfect lotus position, teeth bared in a smile that would strike fear into even the boldest of hearts.

“Alan,” the demon says. “Whatcha doin’?”

"Leaving," he says, spinning back toward the door, but then it _tuts_.

"Allie, Allie, c'mon, I only want to talk to you."

"Not _likely_."

"No, _reall_ y," it wheedles, then, with a smugness that makes his blood run cold. "I borrowed your tab today."

"What?! Why?"

"My battery died and I was watching --" Trouble shakes its head, flops back on Alan's bed and dangles the tab from between it's fingers. Upside down the grin is even scarier. "Doesn't matter."

"Does _so,"_ Alan whines, grimacing as his god forsaken _ass_ of a brother snatches the tab away from his grasp. "There's stuff on there that's _private_."

"Yeaaaah," Gordon, because of course that's trouble's name, drawls out the word and finishes with a horrible, spine chilling wink. "I _noticed_."

With a war cry that's honestly more of a yelp Alan launches himself onto the bed and throws his entire bodyweight against his brother's chest, long arms scrabbling for the tab, a bony knee shoved into Gordon's shoulder.

"Give. It. _Back_!"

"What's it worth?" It's a bit muffled, coming as it does from beneath nine and a half stone of infuriated brother, but Alan stills nonetheless.

"You what?"

Gordon rolls slightly bulging eyes. Alan's been in the gym, lately. It might be working.

"The tab," he says, with rather more coolness than his position implies, "what will you give me to keep my mouth shut?"

Alan gapes.

The thing about Gordon, and it is a truth universally acknowledged all right, is that sure he's an _ass_ sometimes, and an _idiot_ , and damn but he doesn't always have something to prove, but a bully? Gordon despises bullies. Hates them as much as he hates his own deviated septum and John's taciturn habits. Gordon, and Alan is as sure of this as he is his own name, would never, ever --

"Are you -- are you _bribing_ me?"

Alan's knee bounces slightly as Gordon shrugs.

"Technically I think you're gonna bribe me."

He ought to tell Scott, he knows he should, Gordon's clearly cracked and -- and Gordon knows. Alan can tell, knows that look in those eyes as well as he knows his own and _damn it damn it damn it._

"What do you want?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Gordon sits up, throwing Alan off him and up against his own headboard with an ease that belies the idea that Alan ever had any hope of getting the tablet off him. He drops the stolen tab onto the comforter between them and Alan snatches it up, cradling it to his chest like a baby.

"I won't tell dad, if that's what you're worried about," Gordon starts, and Alan's eyes snap to his. The glint is gone, something softer there instead. "That's for you to do when you're good and ready. Okay?"

Alan nods, mute, and Gordon holds up one finger. "Hang on, gonna do this -- gotta do it _properly._ " He reaches down the side of Alan's bed and pulls out two cartons of ice cream and two spoons. He hands one of each to Alan, who just stares at Gordon as though he's an alien being as he peels off the lid then leans forward to do the same to the one he's holding. He smiles, and it’s trouble all right, but it’s soft, and it’s right, and Alan feels his heart rate drop, panic subsiding beneath a mouthful of chocolate chip.

"Now, you tell me 'bout this _Brandon_."

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Scott spotted somewhere he shouldn't be, for HedwigsTalons, and so full of injokes I shame myself

“I swear this isn’t what it looks like.”

“I don’t even know where to _begin_ on what this looks like.”

The warning alarms are still blaring, not one of them had thought to mute them as they'd bolted for the hanger, not when John had flashed into existence as close to panicked as he ever gets and --

_He told me everything was fine!_

_And you_ believed _him?_

Thunderbird One had been out to a high rise collapse, Virgil and Gordon too busy with a seaquake out in the Adriatic to assist, and Scott had been the last back -- but he _had_ been coming back. He’s expected. Just -- not like _this_.

The red flares of the emergency lighting cast strange shadows on the walls of the hanger, one stranger than the others. It hangs, black against grey, from the -- well. Perhaps on this occasion it truly deserves the name _catwalk_. Surreptitiously, Alan slips his holocam from his pocket and begins to film. 

John’s hologram looks up, way up. “Well, Scott. You seem to have a situation.”

Far above their heads Scott swings too and fro, hanging from straining arms that look -- rather less impressive than usual clothed in the soft brown of a woman’s fur coat. He kicks out pointlessly in John’s direction with the sharp toes of a pair of patent red boots and sneers, “Eat rocks, Johnny.”

John beams. “Worth it.”

Jeff drags a hand down his face. "I wasn't aware this rescue involved a bordello, son."

"Ha _ha_.” Scott scowls down at them. “My suit got wrecked, _okay_? A witness was nice enough to lend me some things."

"So obviously you went for the most restrained options?"

Scott grits his teeth loudly enough that they can hear it from the hanger floor. "Beggars and _choosers_ , Gordon."

Gordon throws his hands up in surrender, but he’s still sniggering as he swears, "Hey, hey no judgement here."

Kayo raises her hand. "Hi, judgement here."

“ _Butterflies_ ,” Scott hisses, but Kayo is unperturbed, only smiling angelically up at him and noting;

“ _Stilettos_ , Scott.”

He grimaces, but clearly decides distraction is the better part of valour.

"Ok we've all had a good laugh at Scott _haha so funny_ , now will someone _please_ get me down?"

Virgil and Jeff exchange a look. Thunderbird One’s gantry is a good fifty feet from the ground, and the hanger floor isn’t exactly what you might call bouncy.

"Sure, sure but uh -- how did you -- ?" Virgil gestures up “Manage it?”

"Told you you needed a rail, bro," Gordon states sagely, his own near miss with gravity perhaps still playing at the back of his mind.

"I don't need a rail okay -- I just," he drops his voice to a mumble. "My heel snapped."

There’s a pause as each of them peer upward yet again, eyes narrowed against the flashing light to note that yep, yep one of the long, sharp heels is dangling, bereft, from the left boot.

“Aw man, I’m sorry,” Gordon commiserates as Alan tries to get a better shot of the forlorn sole. “That’s gonna be a pricey fix.”

“I don’t want to know how you know that, I just want a _ladder_ , Gordon.”

Virgil, always the first to take pity, has moved to drag one of Two’s rescue ladders from their POD. Scott breathes a sigh of relief as Virgil maneuvers it into position, and goes to swing himself down.

“Hold it!”

“What now?”

Scott’s upper body strength is a thing of some repute, although his commitment to leg day has never been quite as good as Virgil’s, but even his shoulders are starting to spasm under the strain. Kayo doesn’t care about any of that though, because, as he’s starting to realise, Kayo is a stone cold bitch.

“You can’t climb down in those,” she says with the sort of vindictive glee that has even Gordon edging away. “You’ll slip.”

“I won’t --”

“The probability of falling is 93.7%,” chirrups Eos, butting in from absolutely nowhere. Scott’s face twists as though he’s bodily holding in a scream. 

“I’ll take those odds!”

“You will not.” Jeff nods at Virgil, and Scott pales.

“No, c’mon Virg --”

“Yes, now just hang tight.”

“What do you think I’m -- oh for --”

Virgil sweeps up the ladder in half moment to grasp Scott by the once-again-flailing legs, and in one swift movement has him tossed over his shoulder in a perfect fireman’s lift and lowers him to the ground with the sort of gentlemanly grace that only serves to turn Scott’s face a brighter, fiercer shade of puce.

“I am going to change,” he spits, staggering away in his uneven footwear. “We will never speak of this again. _Never_.”

The hanger door clangs shut behind him, and Alan --

Alan presses “Post”.


	4. aranyhíd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (hungarian, n) - “the golden bridge”; the reflection of the sun as it shines on water

Penelope stretches languidly, arching her back away from the rough weave of the sun lounger. Her skin is warm, sticky, even under the shade of her parasol. Her shins are slightly too pink, the line of her tab pale against her upper thigh, and she may regret this, tomorrow. 

She already knows that she won't.

The sun is just teasing the horizon, and the scent of jasmine hangs in the still, warm air. At the opposite end of the infinity pool Gordon turns for another lap, and Penelope draws her knees up under her chin to watch. The sun-streaked water splits into rainbows in his wake, the promise of the coming night reflected in the bright little stars he throws up with every powerful stroke. On the glass topped table beside her lie the remains of their, mostly liquid, lunch and she ought to call for supper, she supposes.

She already knows that she won’t do that, either.

Her bones feel heavy, her muscles softened by sun and sangria, and although she can hear the faint murmur of the open comm line from somewhere in their hired villa her attention is fixed on the way Gordon moves, on the pink-gold drops that drip from his hair as he reaches the wall, stops, treads water, and _smiles_.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Sunset?” She sniffs, haughty, the way he likes it. “It is rather lovely.”

“I’ll say.” He pulls himself up, rests his chin on his crossed forearms and looks up at her through his lashes. “View’s pretty good from this end too.”

She scoffs a bit at that, but it’s only part of the act. Part of the game they play, sometimes, on these rare and glorious occasions where they can be alone. She stretches her legs back out, lets her left calf slip from the lounger, reaches her arms above her head.

“Ought I dress for dinner, do you think?”

The noise he makes is almost drowned by the sound of the water as he hauls himself from the pool, but it sends a little thrill down her spine nonetheless. “ _Christ_ , no.”

“No?” She lets one hand drift down to settle against her belly, fingertips skimming the ties of her bikini bottoms. Fakes an innocent tone. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh I definitely am,” he assures her, and she believes him, because that face -- that face has never kept a secret. Not from anyone, and certainly not from her. Desire is written over every golden inch of him, in the darkness of his eyes, the quirk of a brow, the steady, certain way in which he moves toward her. The lingering sun is at his back, casting a halo around a face that promises nothing but sin and setting liquid fire dripping from twitching muscles. “Starving, actually.”

“Poor darling.” It’s not much more than a whisper, not really, not when he has her breath catching just by looking at her -- his eyes wide with lust and his body coiled tight, ready, but still just out of reach. “We are at an impasse, then.”

“Are we?” He steps closer, leans forward, and she feels the coolness of his body against her own overheated skin, and she has him, doesn’t she? Checkmate. He smiles again, wicked. “I don’t think so.”

“Really?”

“ _Really_.”

“And why is that?”

His cheek brushes hers, just a whisper of skin against skin, his breath tickles the shell of her ear and she holds her own, waits, _aches_ , as he --

Reaches for the compact she’d stashed under her sun lounger, and hops immediately upright, the device open, fingers flying over quite the wrong sort of buttons, thank you.

“What on _Earth_ are you doing?”

He beams at her, pure sunshine even in the gathering dusk, and it’s a good job she adores him, it is, because she’s mostly naked, and wanting, and waiting, and he _shakes_ her damn compact _in her face_ , his crooked grin so proud _she_ might burst. “Take out?”

The sun slips away as he hits the water, his squark of protest loud enough to be heard back on the island, and that, well. 

She won’t regret that at _all_.


End file.
